


Mezzo Forte

by silver_etoile



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Piano!fic, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 02:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17799629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Martino's friends are pretty sure he won't stick with learning piano, but Martino is determined to prove them wrong. It doesn't hurt that his new piano teacher is absolutely gorgeous, and nice, and funny. Oh, and completely straight.Martino knows falling for a straight guy is bad news, but his heart just doesn't seem to listen.





	Mezzo Forte

Standing in the hall, Martino checked his phone and sighed. The boys were late and his stomach had begun to growl with hunger. He probably shouldn’t have ignored his mom’s insistence on breakfast this morning, but he’d already been late to his first class.

The halls of University were fairly empty as lunchtime crept on, and Martino didn’t text Gio to ask if he and Elia were on their way, turning to the wall behind him and frowning at the bulletin board tacked up on the wall. It was filled with notices about classes, people wanting respondents for surveys, a plea for a stolen bike.

Bored, Martino checked his phone again. Ten after. If they didn’t show up soon, he was going to get lunch on his own.

As Martino glanced up, his eyes fell on a paper stuck on the side of the board, a cartoon drawing of a person at a piano and the text beneath it.

_Piano lessons! For all skill levels. Text or call Niccolò._

There was a phone number listed below and Martino paused as he looked at it.

“Hey! What are you looking at?”

Martino jumped as Gio’s hand landed on his shoulder and he turned, frowning at both him and Elia behind him.

“You guys are late. I’m starving.”

“Piano lessons?” Elia asked, ignoring him and squinting at the flyer Martino had been looking at. He laughed. “I’d love to see you play piano, Marti.”

“Why?” Martino asked. It couldn’t be a good reason from the way Elia grinned.

“I’ve seen you try with Gio’s guitar,” Elia said, ruffling Martino’s hair in a way that was supposed to be playful, but Martino ducked away, fixing his curls with a frown. “You don’t have much musical talent.”

“I could learn,” Martino argued, annoyed at Elia’s conviction that he was terrible at music. He’d never really tried. His mom had suggested piano lessons as a child and he’d stubbornly refused, preferring video games to developing actual skills.

“Girls like guys who can play an instrument,” Gio added, and Martino wasn’t sure if he was helping or not when Elia scoffed.

“But Marti isn’t trying to attract girls, remember?”

Gio made a face in agreement and Martino rolled his eyes. Just because he wasn’t interested in girls didn’t mean he couldn’t take piano lessons if he wanted. He could learn to play the piano as well as anyone, and for non-selfish reasons like self-improvement and skill development and… wiping that smirk off Elia’s face.

“So you think I can’t learn to play piano?” he asked, glancing between Elia’s skeptical smile and Gio’s almost the same.

“I’m just saying you don’t have a great track record at seeing things through.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re like Luchino,” Elia said, and that didn’t really reassure Martino. “You see something shiny and you go for it. Then you get bored and move on.”

“I am not like Luchi,” Martino protested, insulted Elia would even make the insinuation. “I can commit to things.”

He could. Just because he’d quit a few things over his lifetime didn’t mean he was like a crow, always looking for the next shiny thing. He was just looking for the _right_ thing, whatever that might be. Maybe it was piano. Maybe he would really good at it. 

“Tell that to your boyfriend. Oh wait,” Elia said, a smirk on his face. “You don’t have one.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend because all the guys in this town are like you,” Martino replied, and Elia’s eyebrows went up.

“Too good-looking for you?”

“Only interested in hooking up.”

Elia rolled his eyes. “If you lowered your standards a bit, a good fuck might mellow you out, bro.”

Martino didn’t reply. He had other things to worry about than who he was sleeping with, which honestly, was no one at the moment.

“I’d love to see you try to impress a guy by whipping out a piano,” Elia said with a laugh, elbowing Gio beside him.

“Thought you said I’d never learn.” Martino raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the flyer. What annoyed him most was that his friends had so little faith in his ability to stick with something. He wasn’t a complete idiot.

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Elia said with a shrug, and Martino looked at Gio instead.

“You don’t exactly have anyone to impress, bro,” he said. “Why go through the trouble?”

Martino didn’t have anyone to impress, which might have been the reason he lifted his phone and took a photo of the flyer just to spite them both.

“Screw both of you,” he said, tucking the phone away as Elia laughed and slapped his shoulder.

“Good luck, bro. Let me know when you bag a date with your fancy fingers.”

Martino merely rolled his eyes as they finally turned and headed for the door. Elia was going to eat his words. He wasn’t completely incompetent with musical instruments, and he was going to prove it. 

*

“That guy over there is checking you out.”

Martino leaned to the side, checking around Filippo as he handed Martino his drink. The club felt stuffed with people, but Martino caught sight of a guy with bleached-blond hair staring in his direction. Turning back to Filo, he shook his head.

“Not interested.”

Filippo rolled his eyes. “You are so boring, Marti. When are you going to let go and just hook up with someone? I don’t bring you here so we can gossip about your straight friends and how they don’t think you’re talented enough to learn a musical instrument.”

“I thought we came here because you liked hanging out with me,” Martino said, teasing, avoiding the intense gaze of the guy across the club. He may have gone on a bit too long about the piano thing if the way Filippo had excused himself to get a drink right in the middle of his sentence was any indication.

It wasn’t that the guy wasn’t good-looking. It was hard to tell between the flashing colored lights, but he had a chiseled jaw and a piercing glinting in his eyebrow. But Martino knew what that guy wanted. He wanted a quick blowjob in the bathroom, a ten minute hookup where they went their separate ways and never saw each other again or even learned each other’s names.

Martino didn’t want that. He’d done it, a couple times, when he’d first come out, just to try, but it wasn’t what he really wanted. He mostly came to the clubs because Filippo invited him, not so he could stand around awkwardly while random guys hit on him.

Filippo shook his head, taking a sip of his drink. It was some clear, fruity thing that Filippo had tried to get him to taste, but Martino was fine sticking to beer.

“Do I need to find you a boyfriend?” Filippo asked, almost serious. “Because I can find you a boyfriend. I have lots of friends who—”

“No, no,” Martino interrupted him. The last thing he needed was Filippo setting him up with one of his many friends. “I can get someone on my own.”

“Really?” Filippo asked, eyebrows flying into his hairline, and Martino rolled his eyes. “Because in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never even seen you try.”

Martino wasn’t sure what it was, why he hadn’t ever actually dated anyone in the few years he’d been out. There had been guys he’d liked, guys he was attracted to, but no one that he’d really _wanted_ to date. Like, for real. Of course, no one had ever asked him out either. That might have been part of it.

“I’m waiting for the right person,” Martino said instead because he didn’t really have an answer for Filippo.

“Right,” Filo said, sounding only partially skeptical. “Well, if you’re not going to take advantage of that hot guy at least for some free drinks, I want to dance.”

“I don’t dance,” Martino said, but Filippo wasn’t listening, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the dance floor instead. 

He went along reluctantly, bouncing to the music, and even smiling when Filippo grabbed his hips to force him to move, not caring about anyone watching him as they swayed to the beat and lights flashed all around them.

*

Martino felt strangely nervous as he climbed the stairs to the apartment, the address the guy, Niccolò, had texted him a few days ago when Martino had messaged about the lessons. A part of him was rethinking this, why he cared so much to prove to the guys that he could learn something new, even if it was just the piano.

It was too late now, though, as he found himself outside a door, double-checking the number and raising his fist to knock. Martino wasn’t a quitter.

No one answered and Martino knocked again. Maybe the address was wrong. Maybe this was the universe telling him it was a dumb idea in the first place and he should just give in to the inevitable teasing that would follow from the guys when he admitted he hadn’t done it.

Footsteps on the stairs behind him made him turn, someone hurrying up behind him, and Martino stared as a guy came around the corner, dark curls windblown, cheeks pink from running up the stairs, a bright smile that did something strange to Martino’s stomach as the guy met his eyes.

“Ciao! Sorry, I’m late. Bus strike. You must be Martino.”

Martino’s mind seemed to go blank for a second as the guy brushed past him, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. He knew he was supposed to be saying something, not mindlessly following the guy inside the apartment, too distracted by the way the guy shot him a smile to care if this was actually Niccolò, the piano teacher. How could it be? He was so young, so good-looking…

“You are Martino, right?” the guy asked as he dumped his bag by the piano sitting against the wall of the spacious apartment, bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows, somehow cozy despite the size.

“Uh, yeah,” Martino managed to say finally, as if his tongue remembered it could move. He wasn’t sure what this was, this nervousness in his stomach that wasn’t related to the fact that he was expected to play piano in a minute. 

“Good.” He smiled. “I’m Niccolò.” Niccolò shrugged off his jacket, tossing it into an open door behind the piano. “You’re older than I expected.”

“I am?” Martino took off his jacket much more carefully, as though Nico was watching his every move even though he wasn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as beautiful as Niccolò, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, even though he didn’t even know Martino, the way Nico didn’t seem nervous at all as he slid back the cover on the piano, revealing the keys.

“Most people who start lessons are much younger,” he said, turning to face Martino, who still stood awkwardly in the front entryway, caught between the hall and the living area where a comfy brown couch faced a wall of bookshelves. “But it’s awesome you want to start. Can I ask where you saw my flyer?”

“At Uni,” Martino said. “In the Engineering hall.”

Niccolò’s smile could light up a room, so bright and genuine as he faced Martino and gestured toward the piano bench. It did something strange to Martino’s stomach, left it knotted, his heart thudding in his chest in a way he’d only ever experienced once before, a long time ago when he’d had his dumb crush on Gio, before he’d ever admitted to being gay.

“Didn’t think I’d get many engineering students.”

“I’m not,” Martino said quickly, as though it mattered that he didn’t study engineering, as if Niccolò cared what he studied at all. “I was just waiting for someone there. I’m actually doing linguistics.”

It was a course of study his father didn’t approve of, but at this point, Martino couldn’t care less what his father thought of his academic choices. He hadn’t had much say the last few years since he’d left, and Marti’s mom always said she just wanted him to be happy. So he studied linguistics and supposed he would probably live at home with his mother forever, a fate he wasn’t quite resigned to yet.

Nico gestured at the bench. “You should sit down. I can’t teach you much without the piano.”

“Right,” Martino agreed, forcing himself to move, increasingly aware that his hair was a mess from the wind outside, that he was only wearing a loose-fitting sweatshirt and one of his old tee shirts, stretched and thin from the years. He wished he’d put a tiny bit more thought into his appearance, but he hadn’t expected to be met with possibly the most gorgeous guy he’d ever seen in his life.

Nico slid in beside him, leaving a good few inches between them, and Martino couldn’t help glancing at the space. A buffer zone, the kind straight guys left.

“Have you ever played before?” Nico asked, scratching his nose as he glanced at Martino. Up close, Nico had freckles all over his face, skin smooth otherwise, and Martino told himself that he wasn’t here to stare at some guy’s face, no matter how pretty his eyes were. If Gio and Elia could see him now, they wouldn’t stop laughing at how stupid he was being.

That thought broke him out of the way he was gazing at Nico, blinking and turning to the keys instead.

“Not at all,” he admitted, eyes running over the black and white keys before him. He didn’t even know the basics, whatever those were. He heard Niccolò laugh beside him, gentle, amused, and his heart fluttered somehow. Fuck.

“That’s okay,” Nico said, meeting Martino’s eyes. “We’ll start at the beginning.”

The beginning was a very good place to start, Martino thought as Nico named all the keys and he wondered exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

*

Nico probably didn’t even like guys. Nico probably had a girlfriend as beautiful as he was, the kind of girl Martino would have pretended to like before he came out, the kind of girl that made other girls feel bad about themselves. That kind of girlfriend.

But Martino couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the whole hour they’d spent together, Niccolò showing him the keys, explaining the difference between sharps and flats, teaching him a few easy scales to work on for next time. 

Next time.

The next hour Martino would spend with Niccolò, trying to ignore how easily they fell into conversation, how Nico laughed so much, always smiling at Martino. He wasn’t sure if this had been such a good idea.

“How are piano lessons going?” Elia asked, interrupting Martino’s thoughts, hogging the game controller and shoving Luca away as he tried to grab it. “Land yourself a date yet?”

Rolling his eyes, Martino grabbed his beer off the table and shoved Elia’s leg from his spot on the chair. “I don’t need to impress people to get dates like you do.”

Elia laughed, eyes on the TV instead of Marti, currently winning his match against Gio, much to Martino’s annoyance.

“Sorry, who was the last person you went out with?”

Gio shot Martino a look, grimacing slightly. “He’s got a point, bro.”

“What point?” Martino asked. “That I don’t have low standards like he does? Elia hooks up with every girl he meets.”

“You wish you had this much game,” Elia argued, not taking his eyes off the game.

“I thought you said that last girl fell asleep in the middle,” Luca said, flinching as Elia punched him, and Martino laughed.

“So it’s all bullshit.” Elia was a lot of talk, but then, Elia wasn’t looking for anything specific. He was content to hook up with whoever showed interest, whereas Martino would rather not get a blowjob from every stranger he met. Sex was great, but it was way better when you actually cared.

He’d never tried to explain that to the boys—they surely would never have let him hear the end of it. The only one who might have understood was Gio, who’d taken two years to get back together with Eva, and they were the best couple Martino knew. Or maybe they were just the only couple.

“She was tired,” Elia said, waving his hand before kicking a goal into the net. “I still get more ass than you do.”

“I thought gay guys were all about sex,” Luca asked, looking up from the TV. “Shouldn’t it be easy to find someone?”

“That’s a stereotype, Luchi,” Gio said, and Luca frowned.

“But I’m a guy. I think about sex all the time. Wouldn’t it be the same?”

Martino shook his head. “Even some straight guys think other things are important. Like how well you get along, if they make you smile, if you have the same interests.”

“You’re so sentimental, Marti,” Elia said, and Martino knew it was mocking. “Keep going with the piano and maybe you’ll find someone as sentimental as you.”

“Asshole,” Martino replied, kicking Elia’s leg. He couldn’t help thinking of Niccolò, though. Nico seemed like a very nice guy, the kind of guy who would play him pretty songs on the piano in the mornings, bring him breakfast in bed…

His mind was running away again, and Martino jerked himself back. He barely knew Niccolò, had only met him once, and they’d spent most of the time talking about music and why Martino’s fingers didn’t seem to reach all the keys.

This was exactly what Martino did every time he met a cute guy. He let his imagination run away with itself, thinking up scenarios that would never happen, conversations they would never have, and it usually ended up with Martino disappointed and alone.

That wasn’t going to happen this time, he told himself firmly. He was only there to learn piano, prove Elia wrong, and gain a new skill. He wasn’t there to flirt with Nico or dream up names of their future pets. He could totally handle this. No problem.

*

“I can tell you didn’t practice,” Niccolò said from where he stood, elbow perched on top of the piano, and Martino looked up sharply.

“I…” He hadn’t. He couldn’t exactly lie with Nico’s eyes resting on him knowingly. He didn’t think he’d done that badly considering he _hadn’t_ practiced. “I don’t have a piano at home,” he admitted finally.

Martino didn’t want Nico to think he wasn’t taking this seriously, but it had only been one lesson, and how much was he supposed to have improved in the last couple days?

Niccolò nodded after a second, and he didn’t seem upset at Martino’s answer. A curl fell in his eyes and he didn’t brush it away. The lesson was almost over, the hour ticking to a close, and Martino kind of wished it wouldn’t. He’d barely gotten to talk to Nico at all aside from a few pleasantries before they’d started and Niccolò’s joke about stretching Martino’s fingers.

“You go to the university, right?” he asked, moving away from the piano, and Martino twisted on the bench to face him. “There’s a few pianos in the music practice rooms you could use.”

Martino had never even been into the music part of the school. “Is that what you study?” he asked, watching Nico perch on the back of a chair in the living room.

Niccolò nodded. “Music theory. It won’t make me any money, but it might make me happy.”

Martino couldn’t help smiling. “That’s what I tell my dad about linguistics. He thinks I should study something like medicine or computers or something. Something that makes money.”

“Money doesn’t make you happy.” He gestured at the living room around him as though that was supposed to prove something. His apartment was probably twice the size of Martino’s, filled with beautiful things: books, figurines, paintings on the wall.

“But it does keep you alive,” Martino said, hearing his dad’s voice ringing in his head. He shook it away. “So why are you teaching hopeless wrecks like me to play piano?”

Niccolò smiled, head tilting to the side. “You’re not hopeless,” he assured him despite Martino’s eyebrow raise. Martino was pretty sure he was as bad as he could be. He was never going to tell Elia about how bad he really was. Nico pushed off the back of the chair, moving to the couch, and Martino glanced at the clock. 

Their hour was up, but Nico wasn’t kicking him out. Instead, it seemed like an invitation if Martino wasn’t reading too much into it. He always read too much into everything, over-analyzing every instance of his life.

Careful, he rose from the bench and moved to the back of the chair Nico had just vacated, hands gripping the cushion.

Nico glanced up at him. “I needed a distraction,” he said finally, and Martino stepped around the chair, perching on the edge, unsure if he should stay or go. Nico didn’t seem in a hurry to get him to leave. “I kind of just broke up with someone, and I needed to stop thinking about it.”

“Oh.” Martino felt his heart sink. That was even worse than Nico having a perfect girlfriend. He’d had a perfect girlfriend who had broken his heart and now he had to get over her. “Sorry.”

Nico shrugged. “It was a long time coming, I guess, but I have to get my head out of it, you know?” He looked at Martino, who wasn’t sure what to say.

Martino had never been in a real relationship, not one where he’d seen a future, not one where he’d felt bad when it ended. He had no idea what that was like.

“Yeah,” he said anyway, hoping that was enough.

“So that’s why I started doing lessons. That and I could use the extra cash.” Nico paused, eyes on Martino for a second, and Martino wasn’t sure why.

“What?” he asked finally, confused, and Nico’s mouth curled into a smile as he pushed himself off the couch and crossed to the tall bookshelf, pulling an ugly-looking marionette off the shelf and sticking his hand inside. Martino couldn’t help staring. What exactly was he planning on doing with that?

But Niccolò pulled his hand out a second later, a tiny plastic bag between his fingers as he shot a glance at Martino.

“You interested?” he asked, shaking the bag, and Martino laughed, relieved.

“I was worried you might be planning on murdering me with a doll,” he said as Nico returned to the couch, watching Nico laugh as he pulled out a paper and began to roll the joint.

“Not a very clever murderer, am I?” he asked, licking his lips as he concentrated on rolling.

Martino couldn’t help watching, the way Nico’s slender fingers twisted the ends, the way he licked the edge of the paper, smoothing it down precisely. It shouldn’t have been so interesting, but he felt a flush rising on his neck, and he was glad when Nico finally lit it and took a drag.

Nico glanced at him on the chair, nodding his head. “What are you doing so far away? Come over here.”

Martino moved to the couch before Nico could change his mind, sinking into the soft leather, taking the joint Nico passed him. The smoke filled his lungs, buzzing along his skin, smoothing out the edges as he sat next to Nico.

He didn’t smoke as much as he used to, back in high school when he needed an escape from all his confusing thoughts, when he felt like he had to hold everything in. Since he’d come out in his last year, finally told Gio in a terrifying moment between FIFA goals, it was as if he’d flipped a switch, his emotions coming easier, not holding things back as much as he used to. The secret had been a dam, keeping everything inside, and it had been such a relief to let it go.

“Tell me,” Niccolò said as he took the joint back from Martino, leaning back against the couch as if he hadn’t been correcting Martino’s posture not twenty minutes ago. “Why’d you want to take piano lessons? You don’t seem the type.”

“What’s the type?” 

Nico jerked his shoulders, licking his lips, examining the joint. “With kids, it’s either strict parents or weirdly competitive children. Older people just want to learn a new skill. But you’re kind of in between.”

Martino hesitated. “I’ve sort of wanted to do it for a few years,” he said slowly. He’d never told anyone about it, especially not his mother, who would have been annoyed that he hadn’t done it when she’d suggested it all those years ago. “But I was worried about what people would say.”

Nico’s eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?”

Martino had been worried people would know he was gay, that playing the piano was somehow a “girly” thing to do and it was something his friends would not have understood. They still didn’t understand, but at least it wasn’t because he was gay.

He shrugged at Nico’s question, plucking the joint from Nico’s fingers and bringing it to his lips. He exhaled the smoke slowly. “I just didn’t want to be a weird music kid,” he said instead of trying to explain. Nico probably wouldn’t get it considering he was a hot, straight guy who could probably romance any girl he wanted with beautiful arrangements.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Niccolò asked, eyes wide. “You think we’re all antisocial losers who spend every free moment holed up in a practice room?”

“No,” Martino said quickly, catching the way Nico’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Of course not.”

“I’ll have you know, music students have a lot of fun,” Nico assured him, stealing the joint back. “And instruments are great hiding places.”

Martino couldn’t help laughing, shaking his head as Niccolò took a long draw, blowing the smoke out through his nose. He wasn’t sure if it was the weed or simply being here with Nico that made him feel relaxed, but he hated the thought that this would have to end eventually, that he would have to go home.

“I guess I know who to go to if I need a hit,” he said, and Niccolò nodded in agreement.

“And the practice rooms are good for more than just practice,” he said, taking another hit and humming softly as he exhaled, eyes closed with his head tilted back against the couch, not seeing the way Martino froze, mind racing to figure out what that meant. But there was too much fog, clouded from the weed.

Maybe Nico hadn’t meant it that way, or meant to say it at all.

Nico opened his eyes finally, holding the joint out, but Martino shook his head. He’d had too much as it was, and he let out a breath as he watched Niccolò lift it to his lips and inhale slowly instead.

*

Martino should have been working on his syntax homework, but his laptop was off to the side of his bed, and he sat perched against his headboard, scrolling through Instagram instead. He passed a picture Gio had posted earlier of him with Eva, his arms around her shoulders while she laughed at him.

Sighing, Martino gazed at the photo for a minute. They were so happy. They had each other. And Martino had no one.

Before he knew what he was doing, his finger had clicked on the search button and he was typing in Niccolò’s name. Nothing came up and he sighed. That was what he got for trying to stalk Nico. He shouldn’t have been looking. What was he expecting to find? Was he going to drool over pictures of Nico? That would be a little creepy.

Shaking his head, Martino pulled his laptop over and flipped it open. He had work to do, work that didn’t involve looking people up on the internet. Still, when he opened the internet browser, he hesitated only a second before typing in Nico’s name again. What was wrong with him?

Before he could close the window, something caught his eye, a link to a YouTube channel, and he knew he shouldn’t, but he clicked it anyway. Anything was better than homework.

The page filled with video clips, Nico’s face in every one. It was just a video, he told himself. Not a shirtless selfie or something like that. So Martino picked one of the videos and clicked.

The video popped up, Nico’s face too close to the camera as he moved back, sitting down at the piano. It was the piano at his house--Martino recognized the photo on the wall behind Nico.

“Hey, guys,” Nico greeted the camera with the same smile he always greeted Martino with. “The past couple weeks have been a little rough for me, but I feel like something has finally changed this week. It was a breath of fresh air, if you know what I mean.” Even on camera, Nico seemed to come through as warm and welcoming, and Martino caught himself smiling. “So I thought I’d play this piece today. It’s called [Happiness Does Not Wait](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BdfH0CAKK4) by Olafur. I hope you like it.”

Music filled Martino’s room as Nico started to play, fingers gliding over the keys in a way Martino knew he’d never accomplish with his clunky playing. But he wasn’t thinking about his own terrible piano-playing skills, instead listening to the soft, serene song coming through the speakers.

Niccolò didn’t have any sheet music, playing it from memory somehow. Martino watched as Nico played, picking out the notes easily, blending them together into something beautiful. It made Martino feel happy and sad all at the same time, a longing for something he didn’t quite have, or maybe something he’d lost. He wasn’t sure what it was.

The song ended as his bedroom door opened and his mom poked her head inside.

“Marti?” she asked, coming inside without waiting for an invitation. “What are you doing in here?”

“Just watching a video,” Martino replied, not bothering to close the laptop. He didn’t have to hide cute guys from his mom anymore, and there was nothing going on with him and Nico anyway, no matter how much his stupid heart wanted there to be.

He wasn’t surprised when she climbed on the bed next to him, fiddling with his hair. “How are classes going? I feel like I hardly see you now.”

“Classes are fine.” He slid the laptop off his lap, onto the bed, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. 

“Have you talked to your dad lately?”

At the question, Martino frowned. “Why?” His dad didn’t tend to call very much anymore. He’d given up pretending he cared after Martino had come out. Good riddance, Martino had decided years ago.

“He just said you hadn’t talked in a while,” she said, tilting her head to glance up at him, at his scowl.

“Why do you still talk to him?” he asked. “He left.”

He heard her sigh, as though tired of the same question. Martino thought it was a perfectly justifiable question considering everything they’d gone through when he had left, the months of her dragging herself out of bed, struggling to function while Martino tried his best to keep everything together.

“Because we have a child together,” she said finally. “And you can’t ignore that.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Martino pointed out with a huff. “I’m nineteen. You don’t have to keep tabs on me anymore.”

“I just want to know that you’re okay,” she said simply, pushing herself up. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine,” he promised her, hesitating as he wondered if he should tell her about the lessons or not. That was the kind of thing that shouldn’t matter, one of those secrets that didn’t mean much. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t, in the end, just tell her, and he shut the laptop. “I have homework I need to do.”

“Alright,” she agreed, pressing a kiss to his temple before climbing off the bed. “But you should think about calling your dad back.”

Martino chose to ignore that as she left, shutting the door behind her. He had no intention of texting his dad so they could make awkward small talk about school and avoid talking about his dating life (not that there was much of that at the moment either but still). Things _were_ fine just the way they were.

Martino opened his laptop again, pausing a second, mouse hovering over the X on Nico’s tab. He shouldn’t have been wasting his time thinking about a guy who was completely out of reach, but somehow that didn’t stop him from playing another video and smiling to himself when Nico’s face popped up.

“Hi, guys. Thanks so much for watching my channel. I’m not sure if it’s for the music or my face.” Nico laughed, almost as though embarrassed, and it warmed Martino’s heart. “Today’s is a song that I play to remind myself that things are going to get better, so just remember, things are going to get better. It’s called [For the Lost Ones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOfJ_C6k5uw) and I hope you like it.”

Martino leaned back against the headboard as Nico began to play, sighing. He could watch one more video. Just one more.

*

Martino wasn’t sure he was getting any better, and he really hoped the practice room was sound-proofed so no one walking past could hear how bad he was as he tried to practice the scales Nico had taught him, fumbling through arpeggios and trying to remember what Niccolò had said about finger position. All Martino had heard was Elia’s voice making a dumb joke when Nico had said it.

Martino was determined to get better, though. He wasn’t going to let Elia get in his head, to let his embarrassing attraction to Niccolò stop him from doing what he’d intended to do here, and that was learn how to play piano better than a five year old. He wasn’t sure he was succeeding.

Grimacing when he missed a note, he sighed. Maybe he was just fooling himself.

A knock on the window made him turn, a sudden worry that someone had heard him and was coming to tell him he should never play piano again, but it was Gio’s face in the tiny window above the doorknob.

He slid back from the keys as Gio opened the door and stepped inside, taking in the tiny room, just big enough for the practice piano.

“Nice set-up,” he commented, and Martino rolled his eyes.

“You’re early,” he said, checking the time on his phone. That was a surprise. Gio was rarely early.

“Did you need more time to practice? ‘Cause I can come back,” Gio said, a slight smile on his face. “Or can you already play me a concerto?”

“Funny,” Martino replied, grabbing his bag off the floor and swinging it over his shoulder as he rose from the bench. He didn’t miss the way Gio watched him, an all-too-familiar crease in his brow that Martino recognized as concern.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” Gio asked as Martino ushered him out the door, leaving the piano behind them.

Martino shrugged. “I’m just trying to learn something new. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Gio jerked his shoulder, falling into step with Martino as they left the music building. “I’m just remembering the time I tried to teach you guitar and you gave it up after a week. And the time you said you were going to learn BMX riding and never even got a bike. Oh, and there was the time—”

“Okay, I get it,” Martino interrupted, rolling his eyes. He pushed open the front door, sunlight blinding him after the dark practice room. So he wasn’t great at committing to things. That didn’t mean he couldn’t do this.

Gio squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as he smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I might think there was a cute boy involved.”

Martino looked away at his words, Nico’s smile swimming in his mind. That wasn’t the whole reason he was still doing this, but he couldn’t deny that having Nico as a teacher helped. When he finally looked up, he found Gio staring at him, head tilted to the side, a grin growing on his face.

“Holy shit, Marti. I knew it. You are just as pathetic as the rest of us.”

“I am not,” Martino argued. “I don’t drool over people like Luchino does.”

Gio laughed, shaking Martino by the neck. “But there is a guy, isn’t there? Is that why you’re doing this? To impress him?”

“No.” Martino shook his head. “It’s not like that.”

He wasn’t trying to impress Niccolò. He wasn’t sure that was even possible considering he had the skills of a toddler when it came to piano. If anything, Nico was the impressive one with his YouTube videos and all the comments that flooded every one, mostly girls gushing about how gorgeous he was, but occasionally about the music too. Marti was not impressive in the least.

“Then what’s it like?”

They passed students sitting on benches, enjoying the nice spring weather, sprawled out on the grass, sitting together around the sparkling pool in the main plaza.

Sighing, Martino knew it was pointless to keep it from Gio. He’d find out eventually. “He’s giving the lessons, and I’m pretty sure he’s straight.”

Gio grimaced. “How sure are you, though?”

Martino smiled at Gio’s eyebrow raise. He knew Gio well enough to know he was thinking of some ridiculously idiotic scheme to find out the truth. “I’m not going to ask him. I’m fine being friends with him.”

“Friends,” Gio repeated, as though he knew better. Martino wasn’t sure he and Nico were even that yet, but he’d like to be, if nothing else.

“Yes, friends,” Martino said firmly, elbowing Gio to get that look off his face. “So I’m gonna keep practicing.”

“So you can impress him.” Gio smirked despite Martino’s scoff.

“I’m never telling you anything again.”

“I’m your best friend, Marti,” Gio replied, ruffling his hair, and Martino ducked away from him. “You have to tell me everything.”

Martino shook his head, leading the way to the bar, determined not to think about how friends was probably all he’d ever be with Nico.

*

_I’m running a little late. There’s a key hidden in the sconce if you want to let yourself in ;)_

Martino smiled at the text from Nico, pushing off the door frame in the hall and turning to the light behind him. Reaching up, he swept his fingers along the edge, coming up with a key, just as Nico had said. Not exactly the best hiding place, but better than under the mat.

Martino did hesitate a second, though, glancing at the key. Wouldn’t it be weird to go in Nico’s apartment when he wasn’t there? But Nico had told him to.

It was either that or stand awkwardly in the hallway for another ten minutes, so Martino unlocked the door and stepped carefully inside.

It was strange, being there without Nico. He set the key on the piano and shrugged off his jacket, setting it gently on the piano bench. Glancing around, he took the time to really take in the apartment. It was always so bright and warm whenever Martino was there, plants on the windowsill, worn books on the shelves, as if they were well-loved and not just for show.

Turning, Martino caught sight of the door behind the piano. It was where Nico always tossed his coat when he arrived, and the doors stood open. All Martino could see was another bookshelf that took over half the wall, filled with knick knacks, a desk covered in papers, cups filled with pens.

Martino couldn’t help his curiosity as he stepped inside, and he knew immediately that it was Niccolò’s room. The wall behind the bed was covered in drawings, some cartoons Martino recognized. Posters for Wes Anderson movies were tacked up on the walls, and Martino smiled as his eyes swept the room, taking stock of everything in it, from the neatly-made bed, pillows fluffed and perched on the headboard, to Nico’s desk, much messier, covered with sheets of half-finished compositions.

It _felt_ like Nico somehow, a little bit messy, a little bit put together. Just the right mix of the two.

Martino moved around the bed, pushing aside the yellow curtains and gazing out the window at the view. Turning, his let his gaze travel over the books on Nico’s shelf. He recognized some of the titles—classic books every kid had growing up—there were others he’d never heard of, books on psychology, books on languages, books on metal crafting.

“If you’re looking for the weed, it’s in the ukulele.”

Martino whipped around at Niccolò’s voice in the doorway, embarrassment flooding his cheeks.

“I was just, uh,” he said, floundering for an excuse that wasn’t, _I was just poking my nose in your room for no reason_.

Niccolò smiled at him from where he perched against the door frame, hip leaning casually there as if he often found people snooping around his room. “Find anything interesting?”

Martin could feel the blush on his cheeks at being caught. He tried to play it off, though, nodding at the books on the shelf. “Are these yours?”

Nico shrugged. “What can I say? I have varied interests.”

Martino smiled despite himself, moving past the bed to where Nico still leaned against the door, watching Martino’s progress. “So where are your metal crafts?”

Niccolò laughed, eyes glinting, and warmth flooded Martino’s stomach. “Okay, some are more theoretical. I can’t exactly convince my parents to let me start a forge in the living room. Maybe when I’m older and have my own place.”

“Wanted: apartment with room for metal forge,” Martino said, and Nico grinned at him.

“I can’t be the only one with unrealistic living requirements.”

“Yeah,” Martino agreed, relaxing slightly, even leaning back against the desk since Nico didn’t show any signs of starting their lesson. “I’d like windows, a working stove, maybe a cat.”

Nico rolled his eyes, as though amused. “You make a metal forge sound frivolous.”

“Not at all.” Martino shrugged, tilting his head to the side. This was easy, this teasing that Niccolò wasn’t stopping. “It’s a very realistic need for a future apartment.”

“Okay,” Niccolò said, a smile at the edge of his mouth. “Enough making fun of my unrealistic dreams. Have you practiced this week?”

Martino moved with Nico, back out to the living room and taking his place on the piano bench. It felt comfortable now, and he smiled as Niccolò took his perch at the end of the piano, arm resting on the top.

“I did actually,” he said, feeling proud as Nico nodded. He just hoped it showed when he tried to play. “But I think I’m really shit at arpeggios.”

“Scoot over,” Nico told him, sliding onto the bench with Martino, hip bumping into his for a second, and Martino held his breath as Nico scooted back. “Do you remember the finger position?”

Lifting his hand, Martino slid his fingers to the keys, surprised when Nico reached over and nudged them apart slightly. 

“It’s all in the wrist,” he said simply, eyes on Martino’s hand and not on Martino the way Martino was staring at him, at the freckles on the back of his neck, disappearing under his shirt collar. “Marti?”

Blinking, Martino pulled his gaze from Nico and back to the keys. “Wrist, right.”

He caught Nico’s smile, tiny, and shook himself, focusing on the piano. He started his arpeggios, moving slowly, as if his fingers just couldn’t figure out how to move that fast.

“It’s like typing,” Nico told him as Martino kept going. “You’ll get better at it the more you practice.”

“And every wrong note is a typo?”

Niccolò bumped Martino’s shoulder with his, so easily it made Martino blush somehow, so familiar, as if they’d known each other much longer than a few weeks. “Exactly. Except you can’t fix the typos. You just have to move on and forget about them.”

Martino grimaced as he hit a wrong key, but Nico shook his head.

“Don’t worry about the mistakes. Keep going.”

As Martino played, concentrating on his fingers, Nico reached over, plucking out a little tune with Martino’s notes, the music rising around them, a happy song that made Martino forget for a second that he was terrible at this.

The music faded away as they stopped, and Martino glanced at Nico, who met his gaze easily, warm.

“See? You can already play a song.”

Martino didn’t admit to the flip his stomach did when Niccolò finally looked away. He was in big trouble.

*

Marti pulled out his phone as it buzzed in his pocket, unable to stop himself from smiling at the message there.

_Once we finish with the piano, we’ll move on to metalworking._

Nico had been texting him more since the last lesson, and Martino hadn’t discouraged it, secretly pleased every time he got a message, every time he thought of something witty to write back.

During class, Nico had sent him a video of a cat playing piano. When Martino had been waiting for the bus with Eva, he and Nico had had a whole conversation about Wes Anderson, Nico appalled that Martino hadn’t seen any of his movies.

 _This must be rectified immediately!_ Nico had sent while Martino lied to Eva about why he was laughing.

Turning away from the dance floor, the flashing lights of the club, Martino typed his response to Nico’s text.

_Can we make a sword? I’ve always wanted a sword._

_Maybe we should start smaller… and less pointy._

Martino laughed, jumping as someone tapped him on the shoulder, but it was just Filippo with the drinks.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked as he handed over Martino’s beer. “Also, I’m not buying you these disgusting beers anymore. You need to improve your palate.”

Martino ignored him, putting the phone to sleep and tucking it in his pocket, not missing the way Filippo’s eyes followed the motion. “I’ll buy the next one.”

“So who’s on the phone?” Filippo asked. “And don’t tell me no one. Nobody smiles at their phone like that unless it’s a boy or a kitten.”

“It’s a kitten,” Martino lied, knowing he couldn’t fool Filippo, who arched his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Try again, Rose.”

Sighing, Martino took a swig of his beer. The club wasn’t as busy tonight, the dance floor looking a little sad as the lights flashed over it.

“Do you think it’s possible to fall for someone you barely know?” he asked instead, and Filippo bobbed his head thoughtfully.

“Sure. I fall a little bit in love with everyone who compliments me. Which is a lot of people.” He winked at Martino, and Martino couldn’t help laughing.

“I’m serious, though.”

Filippo’s eyebrows came together. “Are you falling for someone, Marti?”

“No,” Martino said quickly, shaking his head. That wasn’t what was happening. “We’re just friends. This guy is straight anyway.”

“Surely you’ve had crushes on straight guys before?” Filippo asked, frowning at Martino as though actually concerned.

There was no reason to be concerned. Niccolò was not interested in him like that. Nico just saw him as a friend, a student even. Martino just had to get this under control, how he felt every time Nico smiled at him, every time he got a text from him, like his whole body was lighting up somehow.

“Yeah, but it feels different. Sometimes it feels like he’s flirting.”

“Maybe he is,” Filippo pointed out, crossing his arms and setting his gaze on Martino as Martino made a face.

“He’s just friendly. I don’t know why it’s so hard. With Gio, I just admitted I liked guys and it kind of went away on its own.” He was pretty sure he’d only had a crush on Gio _because_ he was unattainable, and Gio was his best friend that he’d known practically all his life. His first blowjob from a guy had thrown all of that out the window. But it wasn’t about blowjobs with Nico, though Martino had definitely thought about it, all alone, late at night…

Filippo paused for a moment, sipping his drink through the tiny straw, gazing out at the dance floor and the guys in tight pants. Martino wasn’t interested in any of them. All he could think of were dark curls, amused eyes, soft freckles across a straight nose.

“All things pass with time,” Filippo said finally and Martino stared.

“That’s it? That’s your great advice? Wait it out?”

“You could kiss him and see what happens,” Filippo offered instead. “But that might get you punched.”

“Yeah,” Martino agreed, thoroughly unimpressed at Filippo. Filippo was supposed to offer sage advice, not tell him there was no hope. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Filippo said, unconcerned, finishing off his drink. “Next round’s on you.”

Sinking against the wall, Martino wasn’t sure that had helped at all. He’d just have to deal with it his own way and stop thinking about how it would feel to kiss Niccolò. Yeah, he should definitely stop thinking about that.

*

If Martino had to guess, he wouldn’t say he’d improved much since he’d started taking lessons. He knew the scales finally, and Niccolò had begun taking him through all the chords, teaching him easy songs in between, things he could practice, things Nico had started to expect him to be able to play during their lessons.

Which was why Martino found himself stuffed into one of the tiny practice rooms, plunking out the easy melody, trying to follow along with the book Nico had given him, but he couldn’t read music all that well yet. It was much harder than he’d expected, but he didn’t get a certain glow of pride when he managed to get through a whole song without messing up.

Maybe a small part of him _did_ want to impress Nico, like Gio had said. Not with his skills but with his ability to improve.

It was a lot of work, though, and Martino squared his shoulders before starting the song over again. He was going to master it so he could move onto something a little less childish.

Martino went through the whole song, eyes on his fingers, the way they moved across the keys slowly, as if unfamiliar terrain still. Maybe someday he’d even be good enough to use two hands at once! He kind of doubted it.

“That was really good.”

A voice behind him had Martino whipping around, heart jumping into his throat as he caught sight of Nico standing in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, feeling his heart beating a tattoo against his throat.

“Not long,” Niccolò replied, shrugging and smiling down at Martino. “I was just passing, heard someone playing.”

“So you sneak up on everyone who practices in here?”

Niccolò laughed, moving inside, the door swinging shut behind him, blocking out the rest of the hall. Martino wasn’t sure what he was doing when Nico sat down on the bench next to him.

“Why don’t you play it for me again?” he asked, watching Martino, who made a face.

“You’ve already heard me play it. Badly, I might add.”

Niccolò’s smile was almost fond, and it made Martino’s stomach curl up into a ball. It wasn’t fair that Nico was so handsome, that he was so friendly, and being this close made Martino want to close the distance between them. He didn’t, though, licking his lips and looking away from Nico’s gaze.

“You’re learning really fast,” Nico assured him. “Soon, I’ll have you playing Bach and Mozart.”

Martino wasn’t as confident as Nico, but he smiled anyway. “Okay.”

For a moment, neither said anything, and Martino kept his gaze on the keys. It was strange, outside of Nico’s house. He’d never seen Niccolò outside of his house, he thought. Not that Nico was any different, wearing a loose grey hoodie, slightly too big for his narrow frame. He had the sleeves pushed up his forearms, tiny dark hairs covering his arms as Martino let his eyes drift to them.

The buzzing of his phone interrupted the silence, though, and Martino pulled it out, frowning at the message from his dad on the screen.

_Paola wants to invite you to dinner with us this weekend._

It wasn’t really an invitation, more of a statement as if Martino had already agreed. Annoyed, he shoved the phone away without answering, looking up to find Nico watching him.

“Not a good message?”

Martino shook his head. “It’s just my dad. We don’t really get along very well anymore.” That was an understatement, but Martino didn’t think Nico wanted to hear about how his dad was a homophobic asshole who didn’t want Marti around his “other” son.

Nico didn’t reply for a moment, but he straightened up. “I think it’s my turn,” he said finally, and Martino glanced up, confused.

“Turn for what?”

“You’re always playing for me,” Nico said, scooting closer on the bench so they were centimeters from touching. “But I’ve never played for you. Have to make sure you trust your teacher.”

Martino didn’t bring up the YouTube channel he had saved on his phone, instead paying eager attention to Nico beside him as Nico flexed his fingers. He glanced over at Martino after a second, a smile at the edge of his lips.

“I’m doing this from memory, so don’t judge too harshly.”

Martino didn’t have any place to judge anyone on their piano skills, and he was only feeling the way his heart thudded in his chest as Nico began playing.

It wasn’t a song Martino had heard before, soft and romantic somehow, even on the old, slightly out-of-tune school piano. It filled the tiny room, dainty but grounding somehow, and Martino felt as if he was floating on air, the music drifting around them both. It wasn’t fast or dramatic, settling on Martino’s skin, making him smile as Nico glanced at him.

Nico’s fingers glided over the keys, as though they knew where to go on their own, what came next as the song slowed and came to an end, the last note lingering in the air, and Martino felt as if the spell would be broken when it dissipated, vanished, and left them in silence once more.

Leaning back, Niccolò’s fingers slid from the keys and he seemed to sigh, catching Martino’s gaze. “Was it okay?”

“That was amazing,” Martino said before he could stop himself, catching the smile that bloomed on Nico’s face. “What’s it called?”

“[Meditation from Thaïs](). I’ve always liked it.”

“You are really good,” Martino said, probably too enthusiastically, the tune already stuck in his brain. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to hear it without thinking of Nico, and that probably wasn’t a good thing as his heart beat faster when Nico smiled at him. “I don’t think I’ll ever be that good.”

“I’ve been doing this for more than ten years,” Nico said, nudging Martino’s elbow gently. “Give it some time.” 

Martino nodded after a second, tearing his gaze from Nico and turning back to the piano. “Maybe you could teach it to me?”

He felt more than saw Niccolò’s smile, the way he seemed to shift into his space.

“Of course I can teach it to you, Marti.”

*

Wind rattled the window pane and Martino rolled over in bed. He couldn’t sleep, eyes wide open as the clock next to his bed shone 1:14 in bright red letters. He couldn’t sleep and he kept thinking back to the way Nico had slid in next to him on the bench yesterday in the practice room. They’d been so close to touching, close enough that Martino could smell Nico’s aftershave. They’d been close enough that Martino had been easily distracted from Nico picking out the notes, distracted by the freckles on his cheeks, the soft curve of his lips.

Martino rolled onto his back, sighing into the darkness. It wasn’t something he should focus on, how Nico’s mouth made Martino think of things he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have been thinking of Nico’s fingers, long and slender, the way they flew over the piano keys so easily. Martino had never thought something as mundane as fingers would keep him up at night.

But they did. Nico’s fingers and his mouth and the gentle rise of his jawline.

Despite his protests to Filippo that he didn’t want just a hookup, he had to admit that the thought of finding someone to relieve this tension he felt whenever he was with Nico sounded appealing at the moment. 

Martino tried not to think about it when Nico was around, when he bumped into him on the bench, when he leaned into his space to correct his fingers on the keys, when Nico’s arm brushed against his and he fought back a shiver.

Sighing, Martino let his hand slide down his chest, over the thin teeshirt he wore, under the sheets, closing his eyes as Nico’s face appeared before him, eyes dark and serious for once.

He swallowed carefully, hesitating, hand hovering above the waistband of his boxers. He shouldn’t be thinking of Niccolò, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as he pushed his hand underneath, wrapping around the hardness there.

He wasn’t thinking of Nico, he told himself as he stroked slowly, biting down on his lip as heat pooled in his stomach, blood rushing to his cock, pulsing under his fingers.

He wasn’t thinking of Niccolò’s perfect mouth pressing kisses to his bare chest, Nico’s strong fingers playing down his sides, gripping his waist. Martino let out a breath, a rush of air as his grip tightened. 

Martino fumbled for the lube, smearing some in his hand, jerking himself off faster, toes curling as the flush crawled up his chest. Twisting under the sheets, he bit back a sound, hard in his hand, hot and heavy. Pressing his face to the pillow, Martino sighed as he came, blinking against the heat curling in his stomach, the pressure and release.

Taking a breath, Martino opened his eyes finally to the dark room, the clock still blinking at him. He was completely screwed, he thought as he pulled his hand away. Completely.

*

Martino was two drinks in, tucked in at a back table, between Gio and Elia. Luca had been sent for the next round of drinks at the bar, and Martino was listening to Gio talk about his Easter plans with Eva.

“You’re not going to the cabin?” Elia asked, and Gio shook his head around his beer.

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time I took her there?”

“She accused you of cheating,” Martino added unhelpfully, and Gio punched his arm. 

“Exactly.”

“But that was almost three years ago,” Elia pointed out. “I’d take the cabin any day.”

“You can have it then,” Gio offered. “Because Eva and I are going to Milan this year.”

“Big spender,” Elia mocked him, shaking his head at Luca, who returned clutching four bottles. Elia took one out of his arms and passed it to Martino. “What about you, Marti? Bagged anyone with those piano lessons of yours yet?”

Martino knew Gio’s eyes darted to him, and he shook his head. “That’s not what it’s for.”

“Bullshit,” Elia said bluntly.

“Do girls really like guys who can play instruments?” Luca asked, eyes wide. “Because I can play the tambourine!”

“Real instruments, Luchi,” Elia corrected him. “Like guitar, and drums, and piano if they’re into the weird artsy kind of guys.”

Nico was a weird artsy kind of guy, Martino caught himself thinking. He’d been good the past couple days, managing not to think about Niccolò all the time, managing not to reread his texts, stopping himself from sending whatever thought popped into his head about metal working and the fact that he’d come across _Moonrise Kingdom_ on Netflix last weekend and stopped himself from watching it because Nico had said they should watch something together.

Together. Like friends, Martino told himself firmly. Friends watched movies together. Not friends who jerked off thinking of the other.

“Who are you taking these lessons from anyway?” Elia asked after a second, taking a swig of his beer. “Some music nerd?”

“He’s no one,” Martino said, shaking his head, bringing the bottle to his mouth but not drinking when he caught Elia shooting a look at Gio, the same way he’d used to do in high school before Martino had come out, back when he’d kept all his secrets. Martino hated it. It was like Elia and Gio had some weird secret language that they only used to communicate about him specifically.

“No one?” Elia asked, and Martino turned to Gio, who raised his hands. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Martino said, sighing. “Really, guys, he’s just a music student.”

Nico was so much more than just a music student, but he couldn’t say that, not when Elia’s eyebrows were disappearing into his hairline already. He’d used to be able to keep secrets, right?

“So that’s why you’re so adamant about this,” Elia said, and Martino shook his head. “It all makes sense now.”

“I didn’t even know him before I started the lessons,” Martino argued. He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, with Elia somehow deducing everything without him saying a word. “He’s not important.”

“Okay.” Elia shrugged, but Martino didn’t believe that for a second. “Do you at least have a picture? I want to see this guy.”

“No,” Martino said, firm, but Luca’s eyes were lighting up too.

“Yeah, I want to see him,” he said eagerly.

“Come on, Marti,” Gio said easily, shoving his shoulder. “What’s the harm in a picture?”

It didn’t feel like a good idea, but with three sets of eager eyes on him, he sighed.

“If it’ll shut you up,” Martino said, rolling his eyes and pulling out his phone. Bringing up the internet, he pulled up Nico’s channel and handed the phone over to Gio, who pulled up a video.

“He is handsome,” Gio said, sounding surprised as he passed the phone around the table.

“Happy now?” Martino asked as Elia squinted at the phone. “You’ve seen him. He’s just a normal person.”

“That guy is not normal,” Luca said, shaking his head. “He’s, like, super hot.”

Martino couldn’t exactly argue, and he drained his beer instead of answering Luca. “Can I have my phone back?” he asked Elia finally, and Elia glanced up at him, a twist to his mouth.

“Oops, I just texted him to join us.”

Martino’s heart leapt into his throat, panic shooting through him. “What?! Elia! Give me back my phone!”

Elia held the phone out of Martino’s reach, teasing. “Not until you admit you like him.”

Groaning, Martino buried his face in his hands. There was no way out of this. “Fine. I like him and now he’s coming to the bar thanks to you. I don’t even know if he likes guys.”

“We can at least meet him,” Elia said, handing back the phone, and Martino snatched it from his fingers. Maybe it wasn’t too late to send another text, say that he was drunk and hadn’t meant to say that, or that they were leaving in a few minutes and it was pointless, but Nico’s message popped up on the screen just as he opened the app.

_Sounds cool! I’ll be there in a few._

“Fuck,” Martino muttered.

“Is he coming?” Luca asked eagerly, standing on his tip toes to peer over the table at Martino’s phone.

“Yes,” Martino replied with a huff. “And none of you are allowed to be weird. No hinting at anything, no talking about dating, no asking if he likes guys. Just be cool.”

“Don’t worry,” Gio assured him, patting his shoulder, but Martino couldn’t help but worry. It was one thing to hang out with Nico alone at his house, but Nico with his friends was a completely different story.

“When are we not cool?” Elia asked, and Martino frowned as he watched Luca choke on his beer a minute later. Elia nodded. “We’ll keep Luchino in the back.”

“Hey!” Luca protested, but Martino wasn’t listening, eyes on the front door where Niccolò had just entered. He appeared to be searching the bar, smiling when he caught sight of Martino.

“Okay,” Martino said quickly, lowering his voice as Nico headed towards them. “Just don’t say anything stupid.”

“It’ll be fine,” Gio reassured him.

Martino wasn’t so sure about that, but there was no turning back now as Niccolò appeared at their table.

“Ciao,” Nico greeted him, and Martino swallowed down the nerves rising in his throat. This seemed different somehow, seeing Niccolò outside of school, outside of his house.

“Uh,” Martino said as he stood there, blinking away the momentary blank space as Nico stood in front of him. “Nico, these are my friends. Gio, Elia, and Luca.” Niccolò nodded at them all. “Guys, this is Niccolò, my piano teacher.”

“You can just call me Niccolò,” Nico said. “You don’t have to add ‘the piano teacher.’”

Martino let out a breath at the joke, feeling a bit better when Gio laughed.

“Join us,” Gio said, inviting Nico into the group, stepping aside so Nico could sit next to Martino, and Martino shot Gio a look. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Luchi, go get Nico a beer.”

Luca went to the bar as Gio grabbed an extra chair from a nearby table, squeezing a fifth around the table as Nico took the seat next to Martino, flashing him an easy smile. Martino felt his heart thud deep in his chest, and he forced himself to look away, landing on Elia’s smirk next to him.

“So, Nico,” Elia said, setting his elbows on the table and leaning towards Niccolò, ignoring the warning look Martino shot him. “How’s our boy doing? You can be honest if he’s the worst piano player you’ve ever seen. We’re all friends here.”

Under the table, Martino kicked Elia. Elia barely reacted except a tiny grimace.

Niccolò, to his credit, only laughed at Elia’s question. “Martino is going to a great pianist, with a little more practice.”

“I bet those practice rooms are cozy,” Elia said, and Martino wished he could fall through the floor right there, or reach across the table and strangle Elia.

“Why do you care?” he asked instead. “It’s not like you could get a girl in there with you, Eli.”

“Oh!” Gio said, and Martino caught Nico smiling beside him, and he let out a breath. Maybe this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

Luca returned with a beer for Niccolò, taking the last seat at the table. “What did I miss?”

“Martino roasted Elia,” Gio said despite Elia’s protests.

“Don’t listen to them, Luchi. You know I get more ass than both of them.”

“Hey, I have a girlfriend,” Gio said, raising his hands, removing himself from the competition.

“Well, Marti’s single,” Elia replied, “and we all know--”

“Ni, I saw that Moonrise Kingdom was on Netflix,” Martino said sharply, interrupting whatever Elia was about to say that would probably make him look like an idiot who’d never had a _real_ relationship. “I almost watched it.”

“Without me?” Nico asked, eyebrows rising. “Marti, I thought we were friends.” His eyes were big, almost teasing, a grin curling his mouth. It made Martino’s knees weak somehow, even though he was sitting down.

“I said ‘almost’,” Martino clarified. “But I thought maybe you’d want the privilege of introducing me to Wes Anderson yourself.”

Niccolò seemed to gaze at him for a second, a beat too long before he nodded. “I do,” he said at length, making Martino’s stomach clench, suddenly nervous.

“Who’s Wes Anderson?” Luca interrupted before Martino could let his fantasies run away with himself. It didn’t mean anything, the way Nico looked at him, eyes soft, gaze warm. Unless it did.

“He’s my favorite director,” Niccolò said enthusiastically, turning away from Martino, and Martino sat back, smiling as he listened to Nico eagerly explaining his films.

*

Beer bottles crowded the table and Nico was laughing as Elia and Gio told the story of meeting Luca for probably the hundredth time.

“And we tried to stuff him in a suitcase at this girl’s party the next year and it was a total disaster,” Gio said as Elia dissolved into giggles, covering his face. They were all a little more than tipsy, and Martino’s face was pleasantly warm as he sunk into his chair, watching the way Niccolò laughed, his whole face lit up, radiant, as though he fit in perfectly with Martino’s friends.

“Didn’t you end up dating that girl, though?” Martino asked as Gio took a swig of his beer and Elia wiped tears from his eyes.

“Sofia, yeah, for a few months,” Gio agreed. “But that was after your whole thing.”

“What thing?” Nico asked, glancing at Martino, who froze, bottle at his lips. Behind Nico, Gio grimaced as he realized what he’d said. They were all a little too drunk maybe.

Gio meant Martino’s whole coming out thing where Martino had shrunken inside himself for months, suppressing his dumb crush on Gio until things sort of exploded all over the place. It wasn’t a time Martino liked to think back on, and coming out to people he didn’t know very well was still one of those things that could backfire spectacularly.

“Martino dated her friend for a while,” Elia piped up suddenly, drawing Nico’s gaze from Martino. “It didn’t end very well.”

Martino felt a rush of gratitude as he caught Elia’s eye. Elia merely nodded in return.

“And even after you came out, she didn’t want to date me,” Luca said sadly, and both Elia and Gio immediately groaned.

“Luchino!” Elia punched Luca in the shoulder, but even as Luca flinched in pain, Martino’s heart was in his throat and his eyes were on Nico for his reaction, for some kind of confusion or disgust. Blood rushed through his ears, and he held his breath, a momentary fear spreading through him.

Martino didn’t hide who he was, but it wasn’t always safe to tell everyone, and what if Nico was one of those people? What if he wouldn’t want to be friends with Martino after that? Martino wasn’t sure if he could handle that pain after Niccolò had been nothing but friendly with him.

Nico didn’t really react, sipping his beer and watching Luca rub his arm and frown at Elia.

“Breakups are hard,” he said finally, glancing at Martino, and Martino didn’t allow himself to hope just yet, that Niccolò really was as cool as he seemed. “I like to think of them as a missed note. You can’t change it, and you’ll do better next time.”

Relief flooded Martino at Nico’s words, and he felt his shoulders relax as he let out a breath.

“Everything’s a musical reference with you, isn’t it?” he asked, and Nico laughed easily, the tension breaking around the table.

“Did you expect any different from a music theory student?”

Elia shoved Luca out of his chair. “For that, you owe us all another round.”

“Come on,” Luca whined, but in the end, he slumped off to the bar.

“Hey.” Nico nudged Martino’s shoulder as Elia and Gio shouted as Luca to get the good brand this time. Martino turned to find Niccolò’s eyes on his, heart-meltingly soft. “You have some really great friends.”

“Yeah,” Martino agreed, but he didn’t break Nico’s gaze as Nico smiled in return.

*

It was long past the time they should have left, but Martino never wanted to leave, not with Niccolò leaning into his shoulder, somehow closer with every drink. Martino was comfortably warm, happy to have Nico’s leg pressed to his, almost as though Nico hadn’t noticed.

It felt like things were falling into place somehow, the conversation coming so easily, Martino’s friends not embarrassing him for once, not asking any weird questions, interested in Nico’s stories about occupying his high school.

“You want another drink?” Nico asked, leaning into Martino’s space, Martino’s skin warm where Nico’s shoulder pressed to his.

“I shouldn’t,” he said, shaking his head. Getting home was going to be interesting. He hoped his mom was already in bed. “I should probably get home.”

He didn't want to. He didn’t ever want this night to end. He would never admit it to Elia, but he was glad Elia had invited Nico. He probably would never have done it on his own.

“Do you live far from here?”

Niccolò lived just around the corner, Martino knew. He might have taken that route on his way there earlier, just so he could pass by underneath Nico’s window. That was a secret he’d take to his grave.

“It’s not too far, but I do have to get the bus,” he said, finishing what was left in his bottle, clunking as he set it down on the wooden table. He could walk, but it would be a long walk, and Martino wasn’t sure how steady he would be once he stood up.

“I was gonna head out too,” Niccolò said after a second, knee nudging Martino’s.

At this point, Martino wasn’t sure how much of it was intentional and how much was the multiple bottles of beer crowding the table. So he swallowed down the buzzing rising on his skin instead of replying.

“Let me at least make sure you get to the bus safely,” Nico went on, and Martino smiled.

“Don’t trust I can make it on my own?”

“I can’t have my star pupil getting run over by a car on my watch.”

Martino couldn’t help the flush on his cheeks as he shoved Nico’s shoulder. “You’re such a liar.” But he struggled up from the chair, pulling his jacket off the back and swinging it on anyway. “But fine. You can watch me wait for a bus.”

“You’re leaving already?” Gio asked as Niccolò stood up with Martino, zipping up his hoodie.

“Some of us have homework to do this weekend,” Martino replied, and Gio scoffed.

“You study linguistics, bro.”

Martino ignored him, stepping out from the table, heart fluttering slightly as Nico followed him. Almost like a real date.

“I’ll text you guys later,” he said instead.

Gio nodded at Niccolò. “Nico, it was good to meet you. You’re totally welcome to hang anytime.”

Elia patted Luca’s shoulder where Luca had slid down on the table, half-asleep. “You changed my mind about music students. Maybe you’re not all nerds.”

Nico didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Thanks. It was fun.”

That was enough, Martino decided, stepping away from the table and hoping Nico would follow. He didn’t need the guys letting anything slip, which seemed likely considering how much they’d drunk tonight.

Niccolò joined him a second later, arm brushing against his as they weaved through tables toward the front door. It was crowded, Martino told himself, as goosebumps erupted on his skin.

“I’m glad you asked me to come,” Nico said as they avoided a drunk girl barreling across their path.

Martino wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t technically done it, but he was glad too.

“We should do it again,” he said slowly, watching Nico carefully, gauging his reaction. “Hang out, you know--”

“Shit,” Nico interrupted him, stopping dead in the middle of the bar, and Martino frowned, confused. “Shit!”

“What is it?”

Nico turned his head, as if avoiding looking at something. “My ex, she’s here.”

Martino didn’t even have time to process it as a girl at a table near the door stepped towards them.

“Colino?” she said, and Martino felt his heart drop, a thud as it hit his stomach, and reality seemed to smack him in the face.

She was pretty, as pretty as Martino had imagined, with long brown hair and soft, pink lips. Of course, Niccolò’s ex was beautiful, as beautiful as he was.

“Maddie,” Nico greeted her, pulling a smile onto his face and kissing her cheek. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You either,” she said, eyes running down him as though searching for something.

Standing to the side, Martino could feel his soul draining from his body as reality crept back in. Nico hadn’t been flirting with him. Nico was straight and his ex-girlfriend was standing right in front of Martino, frowning slightly at him.

“This is Martino,” Nico introduced him after a minute. “Marti, this is Maddalena.”

“Hi,” Martino muttered, awkwardness falling between the three of them. He just wanted to get out of there, to leave Nico with his beautiful ex and feel like an idiot by himself. His eyes drifted to the front door, so close yet so far away.

Nico glanced at him quickly before breaking the silence. “We were just leaving.”

“Okay,” Maddalena said, nodding slightly. “I’ll see you.”

Martino was barely paying attention, only relieved when Niccolò moved first, towards the door and he could leave the tense silence behind. Not that he felt any better even with the first whoosh of cool air hitting him outside.

Nico had an ex, an ex-girlfriend. Martino had known that, but seeing her in person, seeing how Nico had frozen up, no longer the smooth, easy-going guy Martino had known so far, he remembered that, yeah, Nico probably wasn’t over it.

The ease from before seemed to have disappeared with Maddalena’s appearance, and Martino didn’t say anything as they walked toward the bus stop. He’d been stupid to think maybe something could happen with Niccolò, the guy who didn’t care that he was gay, the guy who let their shoulders press together as they sat side by side, the guy who smiled at Martino so easily.

The bus stop loomed into view, and Martino stepped over a crumpled piece of paper on the ground, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry,” Nico said after a long moment, and Martino frowned at the sidewalk. “That was kind of weird.”

Martino merely shrugged. He had known about the ex. He just had let himself think… It didn’t matter anyway.

He heard Niccolò sigh beside him. “It was kind of a bad break up,” he said quietly. “She was… I don’t want to say controlling, but yeah, she was controlling. She always said it was for my own good, but I just got so sick of it.”

Martino chanced a glance at him, at the shadows falling over Nico’s face, no trace of a smile now.

“I don’t know.” Niccolò shook his head. “It still feels like she’s in my head sometimes.”

Martino didn’t know what that felt like. He’d never broken up with anyone he actually cared about. Though he supposed it was similar to the way he felt whenever his dad texted him, as if just his name on a screen could bring back all the bad memories.

They reached the bus stop and Martino paused, rocking back on his heels. He should have known better, remembered that this was just a stupid crush, a crush on another straight guy who would never feel the same.

Niccolò was watching him, as though trying to figure something out, but he looked away as the bus’ breaks squeaked in the distance.

“So I’ll see you on Tuesday for our lesson?” he asked, and Martino nodded without meeting Nico’s gaze. He couldn’t bring himself to look at him, knowing he would only feel a flood of disappointment, more than he currently did staring at the pavement.

“Yeah,” he said finally as the bus hissed to a stop in front of him. “I’ll see you.”

Climbing onto the bus, Martino didn’t check if Nico was still there as it pulled away from the curb. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

*

The worst part, Martino thought as he stared at his textbooks spread out over the kitchen table, was that he had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who’d let this crush get out of hand, who had fooled himself into thinking that Nico might like him.

His phone buzzed with a message, and Martino hated that he hoped, just for a second, that it was Niccolò, but he had left Nico’s message from that morning, a text asking if Martino had survived the hangover, unanswered, and Martino knew it was stupid to hope that Nico would try again. He shouldn’t have been hoping for it.

The text was from his dad, and Martino turned the phone face down instead of reading it. He didn’t know why his dad couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to see him, why his dad even kept trying after all this time.

He looked up as his mom set a mug down on the glass table and slid into the chair opposite him.

“Tea?” she asked, and he shook his head. She had those bags under her eyes again like she hadn’t been sleeping, and Martino felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, watching as she shook her head gently, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Fine. Have you talked to your dad yet?”

Frowning, Martino glanced at his phone. She said ‘fine’ the same way he did when he was lying. It was something to do with his dad. He didn’t know why he hadn’t put it together until now, until he stared into her tired eyes, her hair unwashed and messy, falling over her shoulders.

“Just tell me what it is,” he said, slumping back in his chair. She obviously knew.

For a second, her mouth twisted, fingers clenching around her mug. She sighed finally. “I wanted him to tell you this himself, but alright.” It didn’t reassure Martino in the least as she frowned at the table. “Your dad is getting remarried.”

“To Paola?” Martino asked dumbly. Of course to Paola. Who else could it be?

“Yes,” she said, but Martino wasn’t listening, not really. So that was the only reason his dad had been trying to get ahold of him, because he was making things official with the woman he’d left their family for.

Martino heard himself laugh before he realized, surprising both of them. His mom looked up, confused at his reaction.

“Maybe he’ll stop trying now,” he said at length, dropping his pen in his textbook.

“Marti,” she tried to say, but he shook his head. He’d heard all the excuses, all the reasons he should care, but maybe it was time to let it go.

“When he can talk to me without disapproving of everything I am, maybe I’ll give him another chance,” he told her, “but until then, he can live his perfect life with a new family.”

For a moment, she didn’t reply, contemplating her tea, steam wafting from the surface. He knew, deep down, she agreed. After all, he had left them both, hadn’t even looked back.

Martino didn’t care that he was getting remarried aside from the initial punch to the gut, the initial shock as if somehow, in the very darkest caverns of his mind, he had still held out some misguided hope that his parents would work it out. He knew they were better off without him, better off without his judgments, the way he’d run away instead of sticking things out.

At length, his mom sighed, finally lifting the mug to her lips and taking a sip. She didn’t argue with him, and he knew she knew he was right. She still seemed tired, though, glancing over his textbooks.

“You’re okay otherwise?” she asked. “Are you going to the cabin with your friends for Easter?”

He shook his head. “Gio’s taking Eva to Milan.”

“You could always come with me to visit your aunt,” she said, and Martino smiled.

“I”m good hanging out here,” he assured her, and she shrugged.

“Maybe someday you’ll have someone to bring with you.” She said it casually, not meaning anything by it, but Martino couldn’t help thinking of Nico. It was stupid, pointless.

Still, he paused as he watched her sip her tea. “I started taking piano lessons,” he said after a minute and she looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

“I do listen to you,” he said, smiling slightly. “Just twelve years late.”

He was glad to see her smile, shaking her head into her cup.

“It’s nice to know something gets through,” she said, and Martino laughed, picking up his pen and turning to his homework as she sipped her tea. He just wished he’d actually learn the lessons rather than reliving them over and over again. Maybe he’d finally learn it this time with Nico. Then it could stop hurting.

*

“Where’s Gio?” Martino asked as Elia and Luca met him at the statue, and he forced himself to stop staring at Nico’s last text, the one about the hangover from Sunday. He still hadn’t replied to it, not wanting to do what he knew he needed to.

“He went to meet Eva,” Elia replied. “You’re stuck with us for lunch.”

“Could be worse,” Martino allowed, grabbing his bag off the ground. “At least you’ve grown out of your weird leather jacket phase.”

“Do I need to remind you of the snapbacks?” Elia pointed out, shaking his head as he jumped down the steps.

“Where’s Nico?” Luca asked as they headed for the sushi place around the corner. “We should invite him to lunch with us.”

Martino looked away, hand closing around the phone in his pocket. “He’s busy,” he said simply. He didn’t really want to get into everything with Elia and Luca, who would probably insist on coaching him through what he should do. Martino didn’t want to hear it.

Elia shot Luca a look. “Already got a new best friend, huh, bro?”

“What? He’s cool.” Luca shrugged.

Of course his friends liked Nico, Martino thought, kicking a rock off the sidewalk. What wasn’t to like? That was the problem.

“True,” Elia agreed, nodding at Martino. “I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to find the only cool piano nerd. I get it now.”

Martino paused. “Get what?”

“Why you like him,” Elia replied simply. “Why you kept going with the lessons.”

Martino couldn’t even argue, not really. He’d started to prove a point, to prove Elia wrong, and yes, he’d wanted to learn, but he hadn’t stayed just for that. He’d kept going because he got to see Nico, to talk to him, laugh with him about his weird hobbies.

“He’s straight,” was all Martino could say. It was all he could think about when it came to Niccolò, every thought about what it might be like to kiss him interrupted with the knowledge that it would never happen.

“I’m just saying I get it now,” Elia said as they turned the corner into the street. Martino watched the cars rush past, not bothering to reply. “And if you become a great concert pianist, I guess that’s just a bonus.”

Martino was fairly sure that would never happen. There was really only one option left to stop the way his heart throbbed every time he thought of Nico. It wasn’t an option he liked, but like Filippo had said, time would fix everything.

*

“Here.” Filippo set a drink on the bar in front of Martino. “I refuse to buy you any more beer, but if you’re going to be sad, you can at least get properly drunk.”

“I’m not sad,” Martino protested, but he took the glass Filippo set down. It was filled with some kind of clear brown liquid.

Filippo slid onto a stool next to him, eyebrows furrowed as though he didn’t believe Martino for a minute.

“You just told me you were in love with a straight guy.”

“I didn’t say ‘love,’” Martino corrected him, but it was pretty much the gist. “I asked you what I’m supposed to do.”

“And I told you,” Filippo said simply, gesturing out at the rest of the club, filled to the brim with guys. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“Maybe that works for you, but…” Martino trailed off, sighing.

“But not for our delicate romantic,” Filippo finished for him, and Martino wished he could argue, but he just wasn’t interested in nameless sex with a stranger. Maybe he was weird, but he would rather at least know who he was sleeping with.

Instead of replying, he tossed back his drink finally, coughing as it burned his throat. “What the hell was in that?”

“Whiskey,” Filippo told him, patting his back as Martino coughed some more. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” That was one way to solve his problem, but Martino had a feeling even death wouldn’t be an escape.

The truth of the matter was that he had it bad for Niccolò, and he couldn’t see any way around it.

“I’m trying to get you to loosen up,” Filippo said simply, turning Martino to face the dance floor behind him. “You see all those guys? They’re all gay. They all are potential dates, potential people you could like if you give them a chance. And this guy you’re hung up on, this piano teacher, he’s not.” He frowned at Martino, as if Martino still had so much to learn. “I know it hurts, but the truth is, he won’t ever be what you want and the longer you let it go on for, who knows who you might miss in the process.”

“Do you always have to be so brutally honest?” Martino muttered, even though he knew Filo was right.

“You once asked me to be,” Filippo reminded him, and for a moment, Martino hated his naive teenage self who’d met Filippo that fateful night outside this very club, that person who had clung to Filippo like a lifeline as he navigated coming out. That naive teenager had wanted to know the truth, and apparently Filo hadn’t forgotten.

“Well, I take it back,” he said as Filippo laughed.

“You can’t take it back, Rose. You’re stuck with me and my honesty for life.” Filippo slid an arm around his shoulders and gave him a reassuring shake. “So get used to it.”

He probably should get used to it, Martino thought as he stared at the dance floor. After all, it seemed he was going to be alone for a very long time.

*

 _Can’t come today_.

Martino stared at the words he’d typed into the message, hesitating before hitting send. They seemed so… brusque. Sighing, he typed in a few more.

_Can’t come today. Not feeling well._

It wasn’t a total lie as his stomach turned over as he hit the send button and slumped back on the couch. It was the cowards way out, he admitted, as Nico’s typing bubble appeared.

_:( I hope you’re okay. Need me to bring soup by?_

Even when Martino lied, Nico was too nice. Frowning down at the phone, he typed in his response carefully.

_I’ll be fine. Thanks._

Nico’s response came just as quickly. _Let me know if you want me to bring soup and Grand Budapest Hotel. It’s a good one when you’re sick._

Sighing, Martino left the message without replying, pulling up Gio’s name instead.

 _Want to come over and play FIFA?_ he sent before tossing the phone aside. It bounced off the couch cushion.

Ripping off the band-aid, Filippo would have called it, but Martino didn’t feel any better knowing he’d just canceled on Nico because he couldn’t stand to see him, to just be friends with him. There was only way to get rid of this crush, and that was to stop seeing Nico.

Martino couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be friends with Niccolò. He’d always be wondering, always hoping every time Nico was a bit too friendly, and he’d only get his heart broken.

A knock on the door was a welcome distraction, and Martino opened it to Gio, letting him in and following him back to the living room.

“Aren’t you supposed to be piano-ing right now?” Gio asked as they sat down and Martino flicked on the console.

“I didn’t go,” Martino replied, and Gio made an ‘obviously’ gesture as he shoved Martino over on the couch.

“Why not?”

Martino shrugged, not looking at Gio. “I’ve decided I’m not going to keep going.”

“What?”

Martino didn’t have to look to know Gio was frowning at him. He picked his player instead of confirming his suspicions. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Martin replied, knowing Gio wouldn’t buy that for a second. “Elia was right. I can’t learn how to play piano. It’s impossible.”

“Now I know something is wrong because you never say that Elia is right,” Gio said, sounding concerned, and he shifted to face Martino. “What the fuck, Marti? Is it about Nico? He seemed really awesome.”

Martino sighed, setting the controller in his lap. He could never hide anything from Gio, and he hated it sometimes. “He is. That’s the problem.” Glancing at Gio, he didn’t even know how to explain it. Gio merely looked confused in return. “He’s a really nice, smart, funny guy, but I can’t be friends with him.”

“Why not?”

Martino rubbed his forehead, feeling tired, drained. He’d been thinking about it for days, about what he was supposed to do, and the only solution he’d been able to see was ending it all. He would never find someone if he was pining after Nico. Always wondering what if. He wanted a real relationship, not hookups to get his mind off someone else, and that was all it would be if he didn’t get over Nico.

“Because I like him,” he said finally, dropping his gaze to his lap. “And he likes girls. I don’t want to be in love with someone who will never feel that way about me.”

For a moment, Gio didn’t reply and Martino didn’t need him to. There was nothing he could say to make any difference. Martino had resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to find someone real, someone who didn’t just want a blowjob in a club bathroom, someone who he’d go out on one date with and never see again.

“Are you sure he’s straight?” Gio asked, and Martino sighed, annoyed.

“Yes, Gio, he has an ex-girlfriend. I met her. She was very pretty.”

Gio rolled his eyes, and Martino didn’t think he was allowed to in this situation. Martino was the one who felt steamrolled, caught in a trap of his own making, somehow falling for yet another unreachable guy.

“There’s such a thing as bisexual, or pansexual,” Gio said, and Martino furrowed his eyebrows.

“Did you learn that from Eva and her Psych classes?”

“Asshole.” Gio shoved his shoulder. “I know things too. And I know that Nico likes you.”

“Yeah, as a friend,” Martino replied, watching Gio shake his head.

“Dude, have you seen how much he smiles at you? He barely took his eyes off you all night.”

“That’s not…” Martino argued vaguely. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Gio nodded at Martino’s phone on the cushion. “What did he say when you canceled on him?”

“Well, I lied and told him I was sick,” Martino admitted. “And he offered to bring over soup.”

Gio shot him an obvious look, but Martino shook his head.

“That’s not weird. Friends do that.”

Gio laughed. “You think Elia would ever bring you soup? Do you think I would do that?”

“If I was dying maybe,” Martino muttered. He hated to admit that Gio had a point, but everything else still stood. He wasn’t going to run over to Nico’s place and declare undying love just because he’d offered him soup.

“And soup could save your life?” Gio grinned. “Okay. Yeah, maybe I would. But not just because you had a cough.”

Sighing, Martino looked away. He knew what Gio was trying to say, what he was suggesting, but it still seemed impossible. Just because Gio thought Nico smiled at him, it didn’t mean anything. Just because Niccolò was okay with him being gay, it didn’t mean he wanted Martino to ask him out or make a move. He wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Marti,” Gio said after a minute, quietly, forcing Martino to look up. “You should at least give him a chance to say yes.”

“And if he says no?” Martino wasn’t sure his heart could take it. It was much easier, simply letting go of Nico, canceling the lessons and never seeing him again. It would hurt for a while, but Martino would never have to know for sure that Nico didn’t like him.

Gio paused, thinking. “Then I will go with you and Filo to a club and I will help you find someone better.”

Martino shook his head, though the thought of Gio in a gay club was pretty amusing. It didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t sure there was anyone better than Niccolò. He didn’t say it to Gio, biting his lip instead.

“I thought you came here to play FIFA?” he asked a second later, and Gio raised an eyebrow, but he let Martino change the subject as he picked up his controller.

Gio was right—he was always right, damn it—and nerves gathered in Martino’s stomach as he admitted it to himself. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now, so he concentrated instead on kicking Gio’s ass in FIFA for the moment instead.

*

Martino stood in front of Nico’s door, hesitating. He was already technically late, as if his feet just hadn’t wanted to carry him there, knowing what he was about to do. He was being ridiculous, he told himself firmly, but he couldn’t shake the nerves building up under his skin, as though he was doing anything different than he usually did at Nico’s.

It had taken him a couple days, a couple days of thinking, lying awake at night going over all the possible outcomes, how much it would hurt if Nico rejected him, but Gio’s words had kept coming back him, like an annoying radio commercial playing in his brain. Even Filippo’s brutal honesty hadn’t managed to talk himself out of it.

It would be so much easier to just walk away, pretend he had never met Niccolò, pretend he had never felt that immediate pull towards him. He could forget that.

Swallowing, he started to turn from the door, but he couldn’t, grimacing as he stepped back and knocked before he could take it back. He at least owed Nico an explanation if he was going to stop lessons, even if it might be a lie.

The door opened before Martino could rethink it, Nico standing in the doorway with his bright smile, looking even a little relieved as he saw Martino. Martino’s stomach clenched at the sight, heart fluttering like it always did when Nico smiled at him, as if it knew something he didn’t.

“Hey, you’re recovered,” Nico said, stepping back to let Martino in. “You didn’t text me again so I just assumed you were fine without the soup.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Martino muttered, feeling the same awkwardness he had the first time he’d met Nico, but for a completely different reason this time.

Niccolò moved over to the piano, and Martino followed slowly. “I’m guessing you didn’t have much time to practice this week, so maybe we’ll just do a refresher? We could work on that song I was teaching you.”

Brushing his fingers over the keys, Martino didn’t sit down, taking a breath instead. Now that he was here, face to face with Nico, who was watching him just the same, he wasn’t sure he could say it.

What was so wrong with keeping his feelings to himself and not getting hurt? It had worked pretty well so far in Martino’s life, except for that whole ‘coming out’ period when everyone had gotten hurt by it. Martino had to admit that hadn’t been the easiest time.

“Marti?” Niccolò asked after a minute as Martino merely stood by the piano. 

Martino hated Gio’s voice in his head, somehow overwhelming the nerves coiling in his stomach, like snakes in mating season. 

Taking a breath, he steeled himself. _Just say it. Just tell Niccolò._

“I don’t think I can do lessons anymore,” he said finally, watching Nico’s expression change, the crease in his brow.

“Oh,” Nico said slowly, head tilting to the side. “Can I ask why?”

Oh God, he had to do it. That was what Martino told himself anyway. He had to at least tell Niccolò the truth. He deserved that much. They both did, even if it was going to hurt when Nico told him the inevitable, that he just saw Martino as a friend and nothing more.

Pressing a finger to his lip, Martino hesitated. He didn’t how to start even.

“I like you,” he said, the words spilling out, ungracefully. He grimaced at himself. “I mean, I, I know you don’t feel that way about me, but I don’t think I can just be friends. It’s not your fault,” he said quickly at the twitch in Nico’s eyebrows, the way his mouth opened as if to speak, to let Martino down gently, probably. “It’s too hard for me to be around you.”

There was a lump in Martino’s throat, and he swallowed it down, curling his fingers into his fist as his heart climbed in his throat. There it was, Nico’s easy out. All he had to say was, “Okay,” and Martino would be out of his life forever, free to try to move on and find someone who might actually like him back.

“Is this about Maddalena?” Niccolò asked after a second, surprising Martino.

“What?”

“Because we’re not getting back together,” Nico said, as if trying to reassure him for some reason. He took a step closer to Martino in the living room, eyes on Martino’s, and Martino felt a ripple of confusion deep in his stomach. “We are broken up for good.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” Martino said slowly. He wasn’t sure how that related at all to what he had said about liking Niccolò.

Nico took another step forward, and he was almost in Martino’s space, close enough that Martino could see the golden shades in his irises, close enough that Martino’s heart climbed into his throat, pulse thudding.

“Isn’t that what you’re worried about?” Nico asked, voice quiet, searching Martino’s gaze. “That I’m not over her? Because I do like you, Marti.”

Martino didn’t know what to say, staring at Nico, feeling his skin heating up from the nerves.

“You do?” he managed to ask, dumbstruck somehow even when Nico nodded, eyes wide, as though confused by Martino’s reaction.

“I liked you the first time I saw you,” Nico admitted, “and the other night at the bar, Maddie showed up and I thought maybe she scared you off.”

“I thought you were straight,” Martino blurted out, his brain racing to process what Nico had just said. Nico liked him. _Nico liked him_. Hope swelled inside him, a bubble in his chest, his head light as Nico smiled at him.

“I like girls,” he said slowly, “but I also like guys.”

“Okay,” Martino murmured a second before Nico’s mouth pressed to his, as if drawn to each other, and he couldn’t believe it was happening. This was really Nico’s lips against his, really Nico’s hands on his jaw, cupping his face. 

His heart pounded in his chest, knocking against his ribcage, and he sucked in a breath when Nico moved back for a second, only to tilt his head to the side and deepen the kiss. Martino’s eyes were closed and he moved with Nico, falling into the kiss, into his soft lips, reaching for Nico’s waist and holding on as he felt Nico smile against him.

“You’re not really going to give up lessons, are you?” Niccolò asked, pulling back just enough to press his forehead to Martino’s. “There’s still so much to learn.”

“I think I’ll keep going,” Martino allowed, catching Nico’s grin before he kissed it right off. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of this, enough of Nico laughing into his mouth, fingers tightening over the back of his neck as he kissed him back.

This was real, Martino thought when Nico pulled away laughing, eyes sparkling, soft and warm and fond as he gazed at Martino. It was real, and somehow, he had Elia to thank. Martino didn’t think he ever would, though.

*

“You still owe us a concert, Marti,” Elia said as Martino passed out drinks and rolled his eyes, moving over to squish onto the couch next to Nico. They were in Niccolò’s apartment for once, his parents away for the weekend, and Martino planned to take full advantage once the boys had gone home.

“I’m not playing for you,” Martino replied, resting his leg over Nico’s and cracking the beer open. He settled back as Nico slid his arm over his shoulders, playing with the curls at the back of his neck.

“You said you could learn and I’ve yet to see any proof. Do you guys even do lessons anymore or is that just code for fucking these days?”

“Gio, hit Elia for me,” Martino said, and Gio just laughed from his spot on the chair.

“He does have a point.”

Nico squeezed the back of Martino’s neck gently. “I can vouch. Marti’s improved a lot since he started.”

“You don’t count,” Elia scoffed. “You’re disgustingly in love. You would say it even if he was terrible.”

Martino shook his head, taking a swig of his beer. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, not anymore.

“He’s not terrible,” Niccolò assured them, but he pulled Martino’s mouth to his for a kiss that made the boys groan. Martino couldn’t help smiling as Nico pulled away, a promise lingering for later.

It had only been a few months, a few months since Martino had plucked up his courage to tell Nico how he felt, to brave the sting of rejection. Sometimes, it still didn’t feel real, the fact that Nico wanted to be with him, that Nico brightened at the sight of him. It made his heart flutter every time.

“Maybe you could give me lessons,” Luca piped up from the floor, and Martino laughed.

“Sure, Luchi,” Nico agreed, and Martino shot Luca a look. 

“You better not fall in love with him.”

“Only you did that,” Gio pointed out as Luca spluttered out a protest that he wouldn’t.

“Yeah, only you did that,” Nico echoed, pressing a kiss to Martino’s cheek, and Martino couldn’t help the flush on the back of his neck. Not his proudest moment, falling head over heels for a guy he thought was straight, but it had all worked out.

Martino smiled as he watched Niccolò, settling in against his shoulder. Neither of them were perfect, but together, Martino thought they had a good shot at trying.

“I want to hear _someone_ play that piano,” Elia said, shooting Nico and Martino an expectant look, and Niccolò laughed, patting Martino’s thigh as he slid his leg off.

“Okay, okay, I’ll play you guys something,” he said, rising from the couch and moving to the piano. He glanced back once as he sat down, catching Martino’s gaze.

Leaning back, Martino let the warmth of Nico’s smile wash over him, listening as Nico began to play and smiling to himself. Things had worked out just fine.

*

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr.](https://azozzoni.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who caught the tiny QaF reference.


End file.
